


No Commonplace Mouser

by elithewho



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Cat Ears, Cat/Human Hybrids, Crack, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff and Crack, Licking, Sexual Tension, Vaginal Sex, Veterinary Clinic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:46:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4401392
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elithewho/pseuds/elithewho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Catboys/girls - sorry, human feline hybrids - don't manifest their feline features until they bond emotionally with their true human owner.</p><p>or,</p><p>Barba is literally grumpy cat.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Commonplace Mouser

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for Morgan because I always do and also because she said "my catboy Barba feels" to me in jest and we ran with it. Also because I love her and she's not feeling her best right now <3

Rollins never would have expected Barba, of all people, to be a catboy. Sorry, _a human feline hybrid._ And she didn’t have any problems with HFHs, she did the sensitivity training just like everybody else in the NYPD and HFHs were a protected class in New York. People still made off color comments here and there, but in her experience, Atlanta had been way worse.

Either way, Rollins would never have guessed. Barba just didn’t seem the type. HFHs weren’t so _badly tempered_ in her experience, even before they shifted and grew their secondary feline features. And yes, Rollins knew how prejudiced that sounded, but she hadn’t personally known many HFHs in her life. Furthermore, to see an HFH at his age who hadn’t bonded with their true owner was almost unheard of. Sure, the tabloids would sometimes have a story about a _65 Year Old Catboy Finally Finding True Owner_ when it was a slow news day but that only demonstrated how out of the ordinary it was.

Barba though. A catboy? An HFH? It was absurd. Barba was the last person in the world Rollins would suspect of being a catboy.

So when the shift happened right in front of her eyes, Rollins was more than a little surprised. She felt bad afterwards, for all the wide eyed gaping, but it was pretty shocking to watch his cat ears push out from his perfectly styled hair and twitch in sudden annoyance. 

They had been working late on a case that felt like it might kill them both. One of those he said/she said nightmares that had been bogged down in motion after motion and unreliable witnesses. They were both exhausted, but after hours of work, the case as it was seemed about as strong as it could be. Rollins stood next to him as they went over the latest motion, shoulders almost brushing together. Perhaps it was the strong sense of camaraderie and closeness that had welled between them, the bond they had formed working together over the past few years. Whatever it was in that particular moment, it was enough to trigger something profound in Barba. Something that spoke to his inner cat. When Rollins brushed a hand gently over his shoulder, it was with something more fond and intimate than whatever casual touches they had shared in the past. And they shared a look, the briefest of eye contact, Barba’s mouth curling slightly at their shared accomplishment.

All at once, Barba stiffened. His whole body went rigid and his eyes widened in alarm. Rollins was about to ask him what was wrong when her voice died in her throat and the little dark brown cat ears twitched on top of Barba’s head. 

“I – I need to…. ‘scuse me,” Barba muttered, his face going from pale to dark red very rapidly. And he shuffled out the door.

Rollins stared after him, still in shock. After the initial disbelief that Barba had been an unshifted catboy this whole time had faded, Rollins realized that _she_ had triggered it. Which meant, if she remembered her high school biology correctly, that _she_ was Barba’s true owner. Which was so wild on its face that she could barely get her head around it.

When Barba returned to his office about twenty minutes later, he looked decidedly less than pleased. His ears were flat on his head and he was frowning profoundly. And his tail, which he must have needed to release from his trousers somehow, was flicking back and forth wildly at the end, a clear sign of deep irritation.

“So now you know my terrible secret,” he said in an attempt at glibness, but it just came off as bitter.

Rollins tried for an understanding expression.

“It’s not the 50s anymore,” she said. “HFHs aren’t locked up in their houses anymore. I mean, look at Carisi.”

Barba didn’t seem to take much comfort in that. His face was still brick red and he looked more annoyed than ever.

“So I’m your owner!” Rollins exclaimed, because she still couldn’t get over that. “That’s interesting.”

“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” Barba said at once. “We can just forget about it.”

Rollins knew it really didn’t work like that but Barba was clearly having a hard time adjusting.

“I’m just going to go home,” he said with a deep sigh, rubbing his temple. “I had _hoped_ that after this long that it would never happen, but. Here I am, I guess.”

That was sad, Rollins thought. Hoping for a life of loneliness rather than experiencing the shift. It was also super adorable, the way his ears twitched. She didn’t think he’d appreciate the last sentiment, however, so she kept it to herself.

 

Over the next few days, Barba wasn’t at work. While everyone assumed Barba was just too sick or maybe finally had a mental breakdown from stress, Rollins kept her mouth shut. She could tell that Barba wouldn’t want anyone knowing what had happened, but at the same time, it’s not like he could hide it forever. He was a catboy now but there was no reason he couldn’t live a normal life.

Rollins looked over at Carisi as he idly scratched one of his cat ears with a pencil while going over some paperwork, his blond tail curled around one long leg. Carisi had been a catboy since he joined the squad and no one had made a thing about it. And he always referred to himself as “Sonny, the catboy” and never called himself an HFH. That was Carisi though, not the most PC person in existence.

Barba would probably not want to find a kindred spirit in Carisi, despite his years of experience in living as a catboy in the NYPD. Rollins sighed, tapping her chin. She was Barba’s owner, after all. It was up to her to help him transition from his ordinary human life to this new one he had no choice but to embrace.

 

After work that day, Rollins found herself at Barba’s doorstep. She had called him earlier, ostensibly to check in, and convinced him to let her drop by and see how he was coping. On the way there, she had stopped by the closest HFH clinic to get info and peruse their literature. She came bearing a wealth of pamphlets that she hoped Barba would be inclined to read.

The Barba who answered the door was not the same Barba she was used to. And it wasn’t just the brand new ears and rapidly flicking tail, but the fact that he was wearing pajama bottoms. Plaid pajama bottoms, which had seen better days and a Harvard t-shirt so worn and faded that it had a few holes on the seams. Rollins had never seen Barba dress so casually. The hair around his ears was soft and unstyled and he didn’t seem to have shaved since she last saw him. Rollins tried not to stare.

“How are you feeling?” she began brightly, even though Barba was clearly not in the best mood.

“I have to get all my pants tailored and I had to call in cat to work in the middle of an important case, I’ve been better,” he said grumpily.

Rollins adopted a sympathetic expression as he ushered her in.

“I picked up some things that might interest you,” she began, holding up the pamphlets with titles like _Your New Life as a Human Feline Hybrid_ and _HFHs and Their Owners: What You Need to Know._

“Oh great,” Barba growled, his ears twitching.

“It says you can’t just ignore the changes your body is going through,” Rollins said firmly, because it seemed like Barba was trying to do exactly that. “It says…”

“I don’t need some pamphlet to tell me how to live,” Barba snapped.

“Barba,” she sighed in exasperation as she reached out for his arm. 

When they made contact, Barba went immediately still. Rollins felt it too, something that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She watched Barba’s tail stop flicking and drop towards the floor. Rollins stepped closer, giving his bare arm a little rub. 

“You don’t have to be so stubborn,” Rollins said in a low voice and she didn’t miss how Barba seemed to lean into her touch. “Just come to the clinic with me, you need to make sure everything is working correctly.”

“I don’t need a – a _vet_ ,” Barba muttered, trying for his usual biting tone, but he sounded a little more calm and sleepy.

“They’re specialists,” Rollins insisted. She was close enough to him that Barba’s tail had curled around her calf and he sighed deeply.

“Fine, but if they say anything about collars, I will leave immediately.”

“Fair enough,” Rollins said brightly, glad that she didn’t have to tell him she’d already booked an appointment so he might as well show up. 

All at once, Barba seemed to realize what his tail was doing and he pulled back, ears going flat. Rollins bit her lip to stifle her giggle. It was just too cute.

 

That Saturday, Rollins dropped by to pick Barba up for his appointment. He was wearing jeans this time, with a hole for his tail he must have cut himself. And a t-shirt again because the summer heat was amplified in the city. He stuffed his hands self-consciously in his pockets, tail giving away his irritation, and Rollins couldn’t stop herself from admiring his arms. 

“What?” he growled in annoyance, pushing a pair of reflective aviators up his nose, perhaps hoping they would keep him from being recognized.

“Nothing,” Rollins said at once. His cheeks were a little pink.

At the clinic, Barba continued to radiate hostility. The end of his tail whipped back and forth briskly and his arms were tightly crossed on his chest. Across from them, a young catgirl sat next to her owner, a girl who looked just her age. The catgirl was scrolling through her phone, looking bored, but content, holding hands with her owner. Barba was regarding them with frosty disdain, as though their clear comfort with their situation was an affront to him.

When his name was called, Rollins patted his knee and he twitched in alarm, before quickly recovering himself. 

They were ushered into a sterile white exam room decorated with colorful posters of catboys and girls smiling happily with their owners. Barba glared at them like they had personally offended him. 

“Hi!” said a cheerful woman wearing bright pink scrubs patterned in paw prints. ”I’m Dr. Green. You must be Rafael.”

Barba only grunted at her.

“And you must be his owner, Amanda,” Dr. Green continued, unfazed by Barba’s rudeness. Rollins smiled tightly as she shook the woman’s hand. “Now let’s get you out of those clothes so I can examine you,” she said to Barba who looked ready to protest. Violently, if necessary.

“C’mon Barba, they have a robe for you,” Rollins said soothingly, trying to stop an angry outburst before it happened.

Barba grumbled in annoyance but didn’t argue as Dr. Green handed him a thin paper robe.

“Would you like Amanda to stay with you while you change?” Dr. Green asked in a kind voice.

“No, I’m fine,” he replied sharply.

“Physical contact with your owner will calm your nerves,” Dr. Green provided helpfully.

“I’ll wait outside,” Rollins added hurriedly because Barba’s ears had flattened again.

Back in the waiting room, Rollins leafed through the pamphlets, wondering how she was going to broach the topic of living arrangements with Barba. All the literature insisted that HFHs would grow despondent and depressed without their owners and must have daily physical contact in order to be happy and healthy. Rollins didn’t think Barba would be pleased to know that, but maybe he’d change his tune after a few days.

“ROLLINS! ROLLINS!”

Barba was shouting her name from inside the exam room and Rollins leaped up and ran for the door, just as it burst open. Dr. Green stood in the threshold, looking annoyed.

“Rafael got a little distressed while I was examining him…” she began.

“We’re leaving, we need to leave!” Barba nearly shouted from the corner he was crouched in.

“What happened?” Rollins said in alarm.

“Just – go!” Barba snarled, pointing at Dr. Green. The woman rolled her eyes but complied, closing the door behind her.

Barba straightened up, looking very vulnerable in his thin paper robe. His tail was curled around his legs and all the hairs stood on end, making it twice the size.

“What happened?” Rollins asked again in a calmer tone.

“She touched my tail,” he said in a low voice. His face was bright red.

“Oh?”

“On the – on the end.”

“Which end?”

“The – the high end.”

“Well…”

“I’m leaving.”

“Barba, you need to get your shots,” Rollins said evenly.

Barba covered his face with two huge hands.

“God, I hate my life,” he moaned.

“I’m going to find a different vet,” she said. “I mean, doctor,” she quickly corrected himself.

Barba hung his head.

 

In the end, Rollins didn’t need to bother Barba about living arrangements because he was calling her every day “just to chat” anyway.

“Just come over tonight,” she said one day after his second call that afternoon.

“I – really?” he said in a low voice.

“ _Yes_ ,” she insisted, not feeling the need to point out the importance of physical contact when it came to catboys and their owners because he was probably well aware.

“Yeah, we’ll… hang out,” she said, for lack of a better term.

So Barba showed up that evening, looking more like his old, put together self. His hair was styled around his ears, he had shaved recently and he wore a nicer pair of jeans and a casual white shirt. Still, his expression was almost sheepish as she welcomed him inside.

Almost as soon as Barba crossed the threshold, Frannie bounded over from her dog bed to sniff out the new visitor. Her tail wagged and her ears perked up, all the signs of playful curiosity, but as Frannie got closer, Barba flattened himself against the shut door, looking panicked.

“She just wants to play,” Rollins tried to assure him, Barba did not look convinced, especially when the dog let loose a few thunderous barks.

“Fucking Christ!” Barba swore loudly. “That dog is a menace!” His tail was getting bushy again. 

Rollins grabbed Frannie by her collar and pulled her away. She should have known to put Frannie in her crate before Barba came over, but she figured it wouldn’t have bothered him that much.

“She’s going away, she’s going away!” she assured Barba in a placating tone, leading Frannie into her crate and shutting the lock. Frannie wagged her tail and whined, trying to bribe her with big sad-Frannie eyes. “It’s just for the night,” she assured her.

She turned back to Barba, whose tail had returned to its normal size. He looked a little embarrassed by his reaction to Frannie now that she was crated.

“Now, don’t freak out,” she said in a firm voice, making Barba instantly stiffen in suspicion. “But I have a room for you.”

“What?”

“I read that it’s important for HFHs to have their own space, even when cohabitating with their owners,” she said simply.

“Oh, we’re cohabitating now?” he said gruffly. 

“For the night we are,” she replied. “You want your own room, don’t you?”

“Of course!” he snapped, tail flipping back and forth.

“Hungry?” she inquired, hoping to keep the peace. Barba nodded stiffly.

After gorging on Thai food , Barba was in a much better mood. He sat next to her watching Netflix in silence, his tail curled peacefully around his legs.

“You know,” Rollins began carefully.

“Don’t,” he said sharply and Rollins sighed in exasperation.

“You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“It was some suggestion from your pamphlets, I’m sure,” he said huffily.

“C’mon Barba, _everything_ I’ve read about owner/HFH relations say that physical contact is super important and I just…”

“I’m not going to curl up in your lap like a goddamn housecat!” he snapped, the end of his tail dancing.

“I was _going_ to say I’m not going to pet you without asking first, OK?”

Barba opened his mouth to reply and the thought better of it.

“So can I pet you?” she said, gently as possible. “Just to see?”

“Fine,” Barba finally mumbled, arms still crossed in clear irritation.

Rollins smiled at his cooperativeness and reached out, slowly so she wouldn’t spook him, and gave him a soft pet right between the ears. Barba, who had been stiff as a board, seemed to melt. He softened, slowly, almost involuntarily, but the more Rollins petted him, the more relaxed he became. Soon he was leaning back against the couch as Rollins scratched right behind a soft, velvety ear. 

“Ah! Yeah – yeah, that’s – that’s good,” he mumbled, eye closed in bliss as she rubbed his jaw with her thumb.

Barba was growing more relaxed by the minute and Rollins leaned closer so she could run a hand through his hair and scratch his ear at the same time. Barba was flushed pink in the face and as she got closer she could hear a faint purring rising from his throat. Rollins smiled. There couldn’t be a more blissful response from a catboy. And she couldn’t deny how appealing he looked like this, body totally relaxed and limp, legs spread, face flushed and happy like she was doing more than scratching his head. She could feel his tail pressing against her thigh.

Barba seemed to be enjoying himself so much that Rollins couldn’t help but put her thumb in his ear and rubbed it against her knuckle. Barba’s mouth fell open and he released a strangled sort of whine, his body arching slightly off the couch.

But before Rollins could continue, he pulled away, straightening up and shaking his head to dislodge her hand. The pink flush on his face and neck had darkened and he grabbed a nearby throw pillow, gathering it in his lap.

“Thanks,” he muttered, not looking at her. “Yeah, that was… thanks.”

Rollins just smiled, not wanting to embarrass him further by mentioning that her pamphlets had said that reaction was perfectly normal.

 

Rollins had expected Barba to stay in the guest room that she had set up for him, especially considering his embarrassment and his reaction to being petted. Barba was such a closed off person in general, Rollins knew it would take a while for him to warm up to having an owner.

So Rollins was more than a little surprised when she woke up in the middle of the night to find another person in her bed. Half asleep, she pulled at the covers in annoyance, wondering what they were tangled around. Then she noticed the warm lump of a body pressed against her side. Rollins squinted in the dark, just making out the outline of Barba curled up on the covers next to her. He seemed deeply asleep, legs folded up near his chest and tail wrapped securely around them. His breathing was slow and even, hands curled on his chest, his face resting on her shoulder.

His face was so soft and sweet looking that Rollins couldn’t help but smile, laying her hand on the top of his head and gently petting. He made a sleepy sort of sound, but only snuggled closer.

 

The next morning, Barba was gone. Rollins sighed in disappointment at the warm dent in the blankets he had left behind. It would have been nice to wake up with him, but so be it.

After Rollins fully got up and put on a robe, she found that Barba wasn’t in her apartment at all. All she found was Frannie whining faintly in her crate and a note on the kitchen counter.

_Rollins –_

_Thanks for letting me stay last night. Had to get back._

_\- B_  


Rollins frowned in displeasure, wishing Barba could just be less stubborn. In the meantime, Frannie needed to be fed and walked ASAP. She hoped in the future Barba could, at least, learn to be more relaxed around her dog.

 

Over the next few weeks, Barba was staying over every other night. All they did was order takeout, watch Netflix and then go to sleep. In separate beds. However, Barba would always end up sleeping next to her sometime in the night, and then be gone by morning. He let her pet him a few times but he’d get so twitchy, that she stayed away from his ears.

Barba had also returned to work, perhaps because he had finally gotten his suits tailored to accommodate his new anatomy. Rollins had warned the squad beforehand, especially Carisi, not to bring up the fact that Barba was an HFH because he was very sensitive about it. She didn’t mention to anyone that she was Barba’s true owner because it was still weird even to her. Carisi, however, seemed to figure it out on his own.

“Listen Rollins,” he said to her in private after she had made the announcement. “I’m not gonna tell you Barba’s the easiest guy to get along with, I know you know that, but if you have any, like, catboy related questions, you know I’m here.”

He gave her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Thanks Carisi,” she said, not bothering to lie and tell him she wasn’t Barba’s owner and wouldn’t need to ask him any catboy questions. After all, he might be a valuable resource in the future.

One evening, Rollins came home to find Barba already in her living room. Which was fine, because she gave him a key and told him to drop by whenever, but the weird thing was Frannie sitting on the floor by the couch and Barba looking fine with that.

“Hey,” he said casually. “I took Frannie for a walk.”

“Oh. Thanks,” she said in surprise. “I’m glad you two have bonded.”

“She’s not so bad,” Barba said, but he still threw her a slightly wary look.

“Chinese or pizza?” she said.

“Pizza,” Barba replied.

 

About a month into their strange little arrangement, Rollins had to go out of town.

“There’s a conference in Chicago and Benson needs me to go,” she told Barba one night over fried rice and spring rolls. “I’ll just be gone for a week.”

“OK,” he said casually. “No problem.”

Rollins didn’t mention that this would feel like a long separation to him, since they hadn’t been away from each for that long since Barba’s shift.

“You’ll be fine?” she asked carefully and Barba only nodded, dipping his spring roll into the little plastic container of duck sauce.

“I’ll be fine,” he grumbled with more than a hint of irritation. 

His tail was flicking, so Rollins dropped it.

 

A week later, Rollins dragged herself into her apartment, exhausted and starving. Her flight had been delayed for hours and then she’d had to nearly fist fight a lady for a cab. She’d been stuck in travel hell, which was to be expected.

“Hey!” she called out, leaving her suitcase in the hall to deal with later.

“Hi,” came a voice from the living room. Barba was curled up on the couch wearing only boxer shorts and an old t-shirt. “I didn’t think you’d be home tonight,” he said in a blurry voice. He must have been napping.

“I almost stayed another night in Chicago, but that would have been even more hellish,” she said, immediately going to the kitchen for a snack. She pulled out a half-eaten bag of Cheetos and got to work.

“How was the conference?” Barba said as she plopped down on the couch at his feet.

“Parts of it were interesting, but the people were painfully dull. I missed home.”

“Hmm,” was Barba’s only response.

Rollins was devouring the bag of Cheetos. She hadn’t eaten since before her flight was delayed.

“Did you miss me?” she asked casually.

“Not at all,” he said at once, carefully not looking at her.

Rollins noticed for the first time what Barba had been using as a pillow, though he was trying to hide it. It was one of her hoodies, recognizable by the garish purple stripes. She distinctly remembered throwing it in her hamper before her trip. Rollins licked Cheeto dust off her fingers but didn’t mention the hoodie. She knew Barba had been missing her but was too proud to admit it. She folded the Cheeto bag closed and threw it on the coffee table.

“Do you want a pet?” she asked, nonchalantly as she could.

Barba looked like he was going to refuse on principle but then paused and nodded, curling his body towards her.

Rollins pet him on the top of his head lightly, avoiding his cat ears. Barba sighed deeply, perhaps despite himself, leaning his head on her shoulder. Rollins scratched his scalp gently as Barba turned his head and sniffed her shoulder.

“You smell all wrong,” he said in a low, husky voice.

“Sorry,” she muttered, kicking off her shoes and leaning back to get more comfortable.

Barba only hummed, practically lying on top of her on the couch. Rolling used two hands now to pet him, to scratch his head and the back of his neck. Barba was purring faintly, pushing his face into her neck.

“Can I touch your ears?” Rollins asked faintly, not wanting to freak him out.

“Hmm?” Barba mumbled against her skin. “Y-yeah.”

Rollins scratched one ear and then the other. Barba purred louder, a faint growl in his throat. She felt him shift around on the couch at the same time a faint wetness grazed her neck. Rollins rubbed an ear between her thumb and forefinger and Barba outright moaned into her neck, his tongue flicking out to lick her again.

“Did you miss me?” she asked again and Barba licked her collarbone, his tongue like sandpaper.

“Yeah,” he groaned huskily as Rollins scratched his ear and rubbed her thumb over his stubbled jaw.

She could feel his erection against her leg as he rocked briefly against her, one large hand wrapped around her ribcage.

“You know,” Rollins said softly as Barba licked under her ear. “This would be a lot easier without clothes.”

Barba moaned heartily into her hair.

Despite her exhaustion, Rollins managed to pull herself up. She wanted to be in a real bed for this. Barba followed, his face red, his eye soft and half-lidded, hair completely tousled. He looked debauched and completely delicious. Rollins took his hand and lead him toward the bedroom. He followed stiffly, readjusting the bulge in his shorts.

Rollins pulled off her shirt, glad to be rid of her clothes after her exhausting day, and as she was unhooking her bra, Barba crowded her against the bedroom wall, dipping his head to kiss her. Rollins sighed into his mouth, her fingernails digging into his shoulder as he palmed the small of her back, pulling her closer.

Her hand drifted lower, over his broad shoulders and the curve of his spine, down to the base of his tail where it fit through his shorts. She felt him tense, but she moved away, instead squeezing a handful of ass. Barba groaned, dropping his forehead to her shoulder as he thrust forward. Rollins giggled, feeling him nuzzle her collarbone, one soft ear rubbing against her cheek.

Rollins pushed him back, suddenly impatient. She nudged him toward the bed and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he walked backwards. He collapsed on the bed with his tail held high, flushed and panting. Rollins slid out of her bra and pushed down her jeans before crawling over his prone body to kiss him again, run her hands through his hair and rub an ear between her fingers, which made him purr and shudder. His body arched against her and he pulled her close by the hips, moans and little snarls escaping his throat.

“What do your – your pamphlets say about this?” Barba growled, rubbing against her crotch with his clothed hard-on.

“Only that it’s normal,” she said in a low voice, giving him a firm scratch below the ear which made him rut against her and squeeze her thigh. “Perfectly normal.”

After wrestling Barba out of his shirt, Rollins got to work on his boxers. She prodded him up the bed and slipped her hand under his waistband. Barba hissed and curved off the bed when she gripped his shaft. Even as she pushed his boxers down to pull out his cock and properly stroke it, they snagged on his tail in the back.

“Barba,” Rollins whispered, her mouth very close to his ear. “Can I – can I touch your tail?”

The sound Barba made was something between a growl and a whine. She felt him nod, his eyes shut and hands clenching. Rollins grabbed his shoulder to urge him to roll over and he settled between her spread thighs, tail twitching as it stood up. Rollins smoothed a hand down his sweat slicked back and pushed it into the back of his shorts, feeling where smooth skin became soft, short hairs. The breath caught in Barba’s throat as Rollins edged his boxers off his tail, dragging her hand down the whole length, and then he was naked above her. Barba released a shaky breath, rocking against her minutely. 

Rollins kissed his neck, continuing to stroke his tail as he pulled down her panties with a shaking hand. He was so warm against her, his hotly flushed face pressed into the curve of her neck, his wet tongue brushing against her skin as he pushed inside her. Rollins moaned, arching toward him, pulling him deeper. Barba was purring thunderously, the vibrations echoing in Rollins’s own body, their hearts beating together frantically. 

As Barba thrust his hips steadily, Rollins tucked her heels securely at the base of his tail, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him tightly pressed against her as he rocked back and forth. Rollins could feel her own climax building as he moved, and she played with his ears again, rubbing and scratching and listening to his tight, breathy moans, hot and wet against her skin. 

“Ah – Barba,” she moaned as he threaded his fingers through her hair. “R-Rafael.”

He moaned in response, scraping his teeth on her collarbone. Rollins felt like a raw nerve, his body rubbing against hers so perfectly that she stiffened, her toes curling against his tail, her hands shaking as she gripped his hair, whispering his name again as she came. Barba growled, low in his throat, fucking her through her orgasm, brushing the hair from her face so he could kiss the side of her mouth. 

As Rollins sagged under him, Barba readjusted, thrusting with more purpose, pressing his forehead against hers as he muttered her name – her surname like usual and then _Amanda_ , low and under his breath – his tail curling around their sweat slicked bodies. Rollins scratched lazily at his ear, rubbing it with her thumb and knuckle like she had that first time and within minutes Barba growled deep in his throat and leaned his head into her touch, his hips stuttering as he came, a shaking hand cupping her face.

Afterwards, they lay curled together in a warm, damp pile. Barba laid his head on her chest, nuzzling her bare breasts and purring happily as she pet his hair. Rollins didn’t think he’d be spending much time in his own room for the foreseeable future.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit goes to Morgan for the title, a line from Bustopher Jones: Cat About Town.


End file.
